


Which Color On the Rainbow

by ThistleOfLiberty



Series: Not Flesh and Blood Series [8]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Divorce, F/M, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Spanking, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleOfLiberty/pseuds/ThistleOfLiberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhausted by the demands of the job and everything happening in his life, Hotch decides to escape it all and travels to the Leroys' house in Maine. Rossi is sympathetic, but has some complaints about the exact manner of his escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Which Color On the Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes it's important to work for that pot of gold. But other times it's essential to take time off and to make sure that your most important decision in the day simply consists of choosing which color to slide down on the rainbow. 
> 
> ~Douglas Pagels, These Are the Gifts I'd Like to Give to You

* * *

 

Hotch was freezing when he knocked on the worn door to the Leroys’ expansive house. It was colder in Maine than it had been in Quantico and just his suit jacket didn’t offer enough protection against the chilly winds.

He knocked again and the door was thrown open, revealing the figure of Alex Leroy, a gun in his hand and obviously tense. When he saw who it was, he relaxed marginally and his eyes quickly took in Hotch’s appearance.

“Aaron?” he asked, his voice sharp with what Hotch knew was concern and not irritation.

“Can I come in?”

Frowning, Leroy nodded and took a step back. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Hotch said quietly, weighing on his feet in the hallway as he waited for Leroy to complete his survey of the surrounding area and close the door. “No. Not really.”

Leroy tilted his head, putting the safety on the gun on. “Not really?”

With a shrug, Hotch looked away from the older man’s intent study. “I… Can we not talk about it?”

A callused hand on his cheek forced Hotch to look at Leroy again, taking in the man’s concerned expression. He stared at Hotch for a few moments before he nodded. “Of course. Whatever you want.” He paused for a moment, lowering his hand. “Did you bring anything with you?”

Hotch shook his head. “No. I… took a cab to the airport directly from work and then another cab here.”

For a moment it looked as if Leroy would scold him for his oversight, but then he shrugged and gestured into the house. “You’re cold. Go to the kitchen and I’ll get you something warmer to wear. And… we’ll talk.”

Silently, Hotch obeyed. He took a seat on one of the chairs in the familiar room and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at his feet.

A few minutes later, Leroy returned with a knitted sweater. “Put this on. Jo is on her way home.”

“She didn’t have to,” Hotch said, slipping out how of his jacket and pulling the sweater over his head, “Come home because of me, I mean.”

Leroy shrugged. “She was on her way already. Does Dave know you’re here?”

After a second’s hesitation, Hotch shook his head.

“Are you angry with him?”

Hotch shook his head again. Leroy frowned as he once again ran his eyes over Hotch’s figure, obviously worried by Hotch’s taciturness. And Hotch knew that he _should_ oblige the man by being an adult and explain what was wrong; that he should answer the questions properly instead of with silence like a sulking child. But he didn’t want to.

He was _tired_.

Fortunately, Leroy didn’t push. “Have you had dinner?”

At Hotch’s headshake he pursed his lips. “Did you at least eat lunch?”

Rather relieved at being able to do so – because Leroy’s tone had taken on a definitely censuring note – Hotch nodded. He’d actually had lunch with Rossi, having been dragged away from the office by the older man who had noticed that something was off and was as concerned as Leroy seemed to be. Hotch had humored him by eating, but hadn’t responded to his discreet queries about what was wrong.

“That’s something, I suppose,” Leroy said, “I’ll get something. Do you want anything in particular?”

Another headshake. Leroy didn’t seem surprised, or – which was more unexpected – annoyed.

“You need to call Dave,” he said after a while, busy heating up a frying pan.

“It’s Friday,” Hotch protested, still not really wanting to talk but also unwilling to call Rossi. Because he had a feeling his mentor wouldn’t appreciate his spontaneous trip to Maine.

“So it is.”

“So tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“That’s generally the case, yes.”

“He won’t be expecting me at work. He won’t miss me.”

Leroy turned around to give Hotch a long, very unimpressed look that made Hotch want to squirm. “You’re going to call Dave, Aaron. Now.”

Reluctantly, Hotch obeyed; getting his phone from the pocket of his jacket, which he had hung over a chair. When he saw the screen, he grimaced.

“What?” Leroy asked.

“Dave’s called me. Three times.”

“You didn’t answer your phone?” The older man’s voice was stern, his eyebrows raised demandingly.

“I had it on silent. And vibrations turned off.”

Leroy’s eyebrows climbed further toward his hairline. “That’s not very responsible of you, is it?”

“No,” Hotch mumbled, face heating under the man’s censure.

Scoffing, Leroy shook his head and turned back to the stove. “Call Dave before he has an apoplexy, you foolish boy.”

His blush deepening – he was in his thirties, after all; being called a ‘foolish boy’ stung – Hotch obeyed.

Rossi answered immediately. “Where the hell are you, Aaron?”

“I’m, uh… at Alex’s and Jo’s place.”

“What?! You’re… Why… That’s… How did you… _What!?_ ”

“I caught a flight after I left work.” It probably wasn’t what Rossi was asking for, but it was the easiest thing to answer.

“Why?”

Hotch sighed deeply. “I’m tired,” he admitted quietly, almost a whisper.

For several seconds, there was silence on the other end of the line. Then Rossi spoke. “Let me talk to Alex.”

Hotch held out the phone to Leroy who got the unspoken request and took it at the same time as he placed a plate of spring rolls in front of Hotch. He pointed to it with a significant look, a silent injunction to eat it, and then walked out of the room to speak with Rossi in private.

About Hotch, which grated a little.

Minutes later, Leroy returned. “Well, he’s angry, but for now you’re staying here.”

“And you don’t mind?” Hotch asked. The reply was an impressively skeptical look, telling him it was a very stupid question. “Can I have my phone now?”

“No.”

“…what?”

“No, you can’t have your phone. I’m keeping it for now.”

Drawing his eyebrows together, Hotch glared at Leroy. “Are you punishing me for not telling Dave?”

“Would that be a problem?” Leroy asked mildly. Far _too_ mildly, and Hotch immediately lowered his eyes in concession.

“No sir.”

“Good,” Leroy said, with a small smile raking his fingers through Hotch’s hair – completely ignoring Hotch’s attempt to duck his hand. “And it’s not punishment. It’s rest.”

Hotch supposed he couldn’t really complain about that; he’d just admitted that he’d traveled over 600 miles because he was tired.

“Eat your dinner,” Leroy ordered, “and then I want you in bed. We’ll talk later.”

 

* * *

 

Hotch was already in bed when there was a light knock on the door. “Come in!”

Jo stepped inside, closely followed by her husband. Her expression was one of deep concern and she immediately hurried over to Hotch, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and leaning over to press a kiss to Hotch’s forehead.

“Hello, sweetie. How are you?”

“I’m…” Hotch began, intending to as usually say that he was fine. But he changed his mind and gave a small shrug. “I’m okay, I guess. Just…” He hesitated. “I’m okay.”

“If you say so,” Jo said, decidedly unconvinced. She ran a hand over Hotch’s hair. “You don’t have a fever at least. Are you in any pain?”

Hotch shook his head. “No. It’s not… it’s nothing like that. I’m okay, really.”

“All right, good. Has something happened?”

From his position leaning against the dresser, Leroy seemed entirely unaffected by the pleading look Hotch gave him, an attempt at reminding him that Hotch didn’t want to talk.

“I said we’d talk later,” he said simply, shrugging, “It’s later. So. Did something happen?

“No. _Nothing_ happened. Nothing is going on. I’m just…” He broke off, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes and turned his head away from the couple. Jo stroked his hair again.

“Shh,” she soothed, “It’s fine. You don’t need to explain yourself. We’re just concerned.”

“Is there something we can do?” Leroy asked, studying Hotch with uncomfortable intensity.

“No,” Hotch replied immediately. Then he hesitated, looking between Jo and Leroy. “Well, I guess… could I stay here? For the weekend.”

“Of course,” Jo said, “You don’t have to ask, Aaron. You can stay forever, if you like.”

“Though we might need to buy a better bed, then,” Leroy added, a small, very kind smile on his face. Hotch smiled back, grateful that the man allowed him to escape the emotionality with some humor.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. Jo smiled gently, then leant forward and kissed Hotch’s cheek.

“Good night, honey. Sleep well.”

Leroy straightened and joined his wife by Hotch’s bedside, also leaning down to give him a light kiss. “Good night, Aaron.”

 

* * *

 

It was almost three o’clock when Hotch left his room to head outside for a walk. He’d pulled on some of Leroy’s clothes – it was fortunate that they were pretty much the same size – and he planned to borrow one of the man’s jackets as well.

Just as he was sorting through the garments hanging from the coat rack, though, he was interrupted by Leroy entering the hallway, head tilted questioningly. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Hotch said, “For a walk.”

“At three in the morning?” Leroy asked skeptically, “No, Aaron.”

Hotch turned around to look at the older man. “What?”

“No, you’re not going for a walk,” Leroy repeated calmly and held out a hand, “You’re going back to your room and you’re explaining to me how it seemed acceptable to sneak out in the middle of the night without your phone.”

“I don’t have my phone because you took it,” Hotch muttered. With a small sigh, Leroy grabbed a hold of his upper arm and began walking him back to his room, giving no other response to Hotch’s protest. Maybe he dismissed it as too childish to acknowledge.

When they reached the top of the stairs a robe clad Jo met them, eyebrows raised. Before she had time to say anything, Leroy waved a hand. “I’ll handle it, darling.”

After a moment’s thought, Jo nodded and gave Hotch a kind smile before she went back to the bedroom. Maybe she thought he needed the sympathy to deal with Leroy.

Because the tight expression on his face and the firm grip on Hotch’s arm made it clear that Leroy was unhappy with Hotch. The kind of unhappy that meant sternness and scolding and sometimes punishment. It was rare that Leroy took on that role – he seemed to be happier being an indulgent uncle – but he could.

“I’m going to make you some tea,” Leroy said after he had pushed Hotch into his room, “I expect you in pajamas when I come back.”

He left without waiting for an answer – apparently simply assuming that it would be an affirmative – and Hotch sighed deeply before he began to undress. Shouldn’t he have expected this? He’d known, really, that there was no way he could leave the house without waking Leroy; the man was intelligence trained. And he’d known that he wouldn’t appreciate it.

Obviously, Hotch was an idiot.

When Leroy returned with a steaming cup in his hands Hotch was as ordered dressed in pajamas. Leroy pointed to the bed. “Sit.”

Hotch obeyed, and also obediently took the teacup when Leroy held it out for him. Then the older man walked over to the dresser before he returned and went down on one knee in front of Hotch. When he realized what Leroy was doing, Hotch blushed deeply; the Frenchman was slipping knitted socks onto his feet.

“You don’t need to do that, Alex,” he mumbled, but didn’t pull away.

“You didn’t do it yourself,” Leroy replied curtly, getting to his feet again when he was finished.

“My feet weren’t cold.”

Leroy just shook his head in reply, dusting off his pants. “Drink your tea. The milk should have cooled it down enough.”

He took a seat next to Hotch, close enough for their shoulders to touch, and put a hand on his back. “So. Sneaking out.”

Hotch ducked his head. “You make it sound like I was gonna go to a party or meet some girl. I was just going to take a walk.”

“In the middle of the night. Without your phone,” Leroy pointed out with forced patience.

“Because you have it,” Hotch muttered into his tea, getting a cuff to the back of his neck in reply.

“Don’t be a child, Aaron.”

Feeling himself blush, Hotch took a sip of his tea to hide. Because the older man’s reprimand was warranted, really. He’d been about to do an at least pretty stupid thing, knowing he’d be caught, in order to… something, he supposed. See if he could piss Leroy off?

“I woke up,” he said, “and I couldn’t go back to sleep. So… I decided to go for a walk.”

Leroy sighed. “Look, kid, I’m not against walks per se,” he said, sounding exasperated, “it’s the in the middle of the night, without your phone and without anyone knowing that bothers me.”

Staring into his tea, Hotch hesitated for a moment. “I didn’t want to wake you?”

“If you’re going to lie to me at least put some effort into it,” Leroy replied drily, tapping his fingertips against Hotch’s back sharply, “You knew you would wake me, Aaron. If you wanted to go for a walk you could have just woken me normally and asked for your phone.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“No, I would have made you tea and put you to bed,” Leroy shot back quickly, “And then you would go back to sleep without the risk of being brutally mauled by a bear.”

Hotch didn’t answer him immediately; instead studying his fingers wrapped around the teacup with a deep frown.

“You’re right,” he said finally, “I knew I’d wake you.”

“So you didn’t really want to go for a walk?”

“I… I don’t know.” The admission was quiet and Hotch was still looking down into his tea as he made it, wanting to hide. Not from Leroy specifically as much as from the world in general. It was why he had come here; to escape the responsibility that weighed on him in Quantico, the always present demand that he be the perfect and in-control unit chief.

At the Leroys’, far away from his office and team mates, he _couldn’t_ – simply wasn’t allowed to – be the exemplary Agent Hotchner.

He was just Aaron, who didn’t even know what he wanted.

Leroy loped an arm around Hotch’s shoulder, pulling him even closer. “Well, _I_ don’t think you wanted to.”

“Then what did I want?”

“For someone to tell you that it’s fine _not_ to know, perhaps,” Leroy replied with a small shrug.

“Perhaps,” Hotch agreed, inclining his head before taking a deep swallow of the tea.

“Finish that,” Leroy said after a moment, nodding toward the cup, “Then we’ll _talk_ about sneaking out.”

Hotch’s head snapped up to give Leroy a wide-eyed look. “What? You’re going to..?”

“Spank you? Yes.”

“But…” Hotch began. Because Leroy didn’t spank him, at least not for something like this. He scolded and lectured, and sure, when the situation demanded it he punished. But not for something like being about to take a walk without telling anyone. “Why?”

“Because I think it’s best,” Leroy replied simply, which was an answer Hotch couldn’t really argue with. Huffing, Hotch went back to his tea. This wasn’t fair. “Don’t sulk, Aaron. You might not have expected this, but you know perfectly well that I retain the right to spank you when you do stupid things.”

“I didn’t actually go out.”

“Would you have if I hadn’t caught you?”

“It’s not fair to punish me for _intended_ actions,” Hotch argued, looking sideways at Leroy. The older man seemed unimpressed.

“It’s intentions I care about,” he replied shortly, “and you intended to sneak out like an irresponsible little boy. Finish your tea.”

With a sigh, Hotch decided that arguing would get him no concessions from Leroy and obediently swallowed down the rest of the tea. When he was done, Leroy took the cup from his hands and placed it on the nightstand. Then he scooted backwards a bit, settling himself more firmly on the bed, before he gave Hotch a prompting look.

Hotch gave him a pleading look. “I could just bend over the desk?”

Leroy raised his eyebrows. “Three seconds.”

Hotch glared. Why had Leroy suddenly decided to be strict? Normally, he was easy-going and prepared to bend or even ignore rules. And now he put time limits?

“One,” Leroy said and Hotch hurriedly stood and allowed himself to be lowered over his lap. Leroy might not give orders often, but when he did he fully expected to be obeyed. The first time Hotch had disobeyed an order from the Frenchman – he had been a consultant on a case Leroy was working on – he had seemed completely incredulous rather angry. At first, at least.

Leroy wasted no time in beginning the spanking; before Hotch was even fully settled across his lap he brought down his hand with a hard, loud smack and Hotch couldn’t hold back a gasp. Not only did Leroy spank harder than Rossi – though fortunately, much shorter – his callused hand was painful even through the flannel pajama pants. Did the man spend _all_ his time chopping wood?

There were no words as Leroy continued systematically: left cheek, right cheek from the top of Hotch’s backside down to the middle of his thighs.

And for some reason, tears began pricking behind Hotch’s eyelids before Leroy had even reached ten swats. It wasn’t as if Leroy spanked _that_ hard and Hotch could handle much more pain than the spanking you’d give a five year old. But that didn’t change that by fifteen swats Hotch was crying freely and lying limp over Leroy’s lap.

He was exhausted. Admitting it made him feel like a child, but that’s where the hot tears streaming down his face came come; bone deep, overwhelming exhaustion. The last few months had been grueling. There had been too many cases, his divorce was finalized, Gideon returned, Kate died, Prentiss and Reid were taken hostage…

At first, Hotch didn’t notice that Leroy had stopped spanking; it took until the older man had helped him stand up and then pulled him down again, settling him on the bed next to him, that Hotch registered it fully. But despite that, his tears kept falling.

Leroy gently tucked Hotch’s head under his chin and wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. “Everything’s all right, _mon petit chèr_. You’re fine. It’s fine. I’ve got you.”

Hotch kept crying against the older man’s chest but as Leroy kept rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words, the tears slowly dried out.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“For crying? You never need to apologize for that,” Leroy said, reinforcing his words with a sharp tap to the top of Hotch’s head, “And I think you needed it.”

Suddenly suspicious, Hotch pulled back from Leroy enough so he could look at the man, eyes narrowed. “Is that why you spanked me?”

“I spanked you because you were going to do something dangerous,” Leroy retorted, “Why you did that I can’t answer.”

Drawing his eyebrows together, Hotch placed his head against Leroy’s shoulder again. “I didn’t _want_ a spanking,” he muttered, “I wasn’t pushing. I just wanted to go for a walk.”

“Of course,” Leroy agreed easily, in a tone that would have gone perfectly with a condescending pat to Hotch’s head.

Deciding not to answer the man, Hotch just made a small noncommittal sound. He rested his head against Leroy’s shoulder for a few moments longer before he pulled back, straightening and moving away a few inches from the older man.

“Are you all right?” Leroy asked, gently raising Hotch’s head with a finger under his chin. Hotch nodded.

“I’m fine. I… I’d like to go to sleep now.”

“Of course,” Leroy said and stood up, “I want you to sleep in tomorrow.”

Hotch pushed back the covers of the bed and slid under them, turning over to lie on his stomach. “We have different definitions of sleeping in.”

“Nine o’clock.”

“Eight.”

“It’s not a negotiation,” Leroy said, crossing his arms over his chest, “Eight thirty. What do you want for breakfast?”

“You don’t have to cook for me, Alex.”

“I know I don’t. I want to.”

Hotch hesitated for a moment. “Could you… could you make cheese crêpes?”

Leroy smiled. “Of course. Sleep well, Aaron.”

 

* * *

 

It probably spoke to Hotch’s exhaustion that the time restriction Leroy had set didn’t even turn out to be relevant. When the haze of sleep had cleared enough for Hotch to realize he was awake and he rolled over to look at the alarm clock at his bedside, it was already a quarter past nine. It was later than he had slept in a long time and he wasn’t sure if he was happy about it or not.

He decided not to worry about it, though, instead getting out of bed. Suddenly he was grateful that Leroy had put socks on him; after the warmth of the covers the bare wooden floor was cold even through the thick wool.

It took him less than ten minutes to be ready to go downstairs, dressed in his suit pants, but one of Leroy’s sweaters instead of his dress shirt.

“Good morning. I’m sorry I overslept,” he said when he entered the kitchen, seeing Leroy and Jo sitting next to each other on the kitchen sofa.

“You didn’t oversleep,” Leroy said, “And good morning. Do you still want crêpes?”

Hotch nodded. “If it’s not any trouble.”

“Of course not.” The man stood and moved over to the kitchen counter to start preparing the batter.

“Sit down, honey,” Jo said, “We’ve talked about calling Dave. Would you like him to come up?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch said with a small shrug.

For a few seconds, Jo studied Hotch with her eyebrows drawn together, concern etched on her face. Probably, she was as worried by Hotch’s silence as her husband had been.

“Okay. Well, I think we’ll call him then. Is that all right?”

As Leroy placed a cup of coffee in front of him, Hotch nodded again. Rossi coming up would be… nice, he supposed. There was a risk that his mentor’s presence would make escaping the demands of the job impossible; that it would remind him of the pressures of the BAU. But Hotch didn’t really think so.

“What do you want to do today?” Leroy interrupted his thoughts, pouring batter into a frying pan. Hotch had always found it strange that Leroy could make crêpes but not ordinary pancakes, and Rossi’s explanation of it had always amused him – especially since it annoyed Leroy. Rossi said that it was Leroy’s subconscious European snobbery at work, to which Leroy generally replied with something including words Hotch would hesitate to repeat.

“I’m going to stay at home and get some reading done,” Jo said, “and Alex is going to help a neighbor take down a tree. You want to join one of us?”

A part of Hotch told him that he should be annoyed at what he recognized Jo as doing; offering options rather than a completely open choice. Like you were supposed to do with children. But most of him was grateful to have half the decision already made for him.

“I’d like to stay at home, I think,” he said and it took him a moment to realize that the smiles that appeared on the couples’ faces from that came from the fact that he’d just called their house ‘home’.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Rossi was inside the door, he pulled Hotch into a rough embrace. “Damnit, Aaron,” he mumbled in Hotch’s ear. He tightened the embrace, running a hand over Hotch’s hair. “Damnit.”

He pushed Hotch away to arms length, but kept his hands on Hotch’s arms. “Why’d you take off like that?”

Hotch sighed, lowering his head to study Rossi’s shoes. “I… needed to get away.”

“I get that,” Rossi said, his voice considerably softer, “That’s not the part I mind. It’s you not telling me and being unreachable.”

“Just for a few hours,” Hotch argued, darting a look at Rossi to see how his defense would be received. From the way Rossi’s eyebrows drew together in a stern frown, not very well.

“’Just for a few hours’? Aaron, you know as well as I do what can happen in ‘just a few hours’. Wanna try another response?”

“I’m sorry and I won’t do it again?”

“That’s better,” Rossi agreed, letting go of Hotch’s arms, “Where’s your gracious hosts?”

“In the kitchen,” Hotch replied. Then he gave Rossi an abashed smile. “I think they figured you wanted to talk to me alone.”

“Oh, we haven’t even started our talk,” Rossi promised ominously, giving Hotch’s shoulder a rather hard pat as he headed for the kitchen. Hotch followed reluctantly, not really particularly keen on continuing his discussion with Rossi.

“Hey, Dave,” Leroy greeted when they entered the kitchen, getting to his feet to exchange a hug with Rossi. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Rossi said, bending down to kiss Jo’s cheek before he took a seat at the table. “Sit, Aaron.”

“How was your week?” Jo asked Rossi once both he and Hotch were seated.

“Eventful. Two cases. We didn’t even get home in between.”

“I see.” Jo looked between Hotch and Rossi with a thoughtful expression, then exchanged a quick look with her husband. “Hard cases?”

Rossi shrugged. “Aren’t they all?”

“You should take a vacation,” Leroy said.

“Hotch should,” Rossi said, “But we can’t both be gone at the same time.”

“All right. But you’ll stay until tomorrow, right?” Leroy placed cups in front of them and then moved over to the pantry.

“That was the idea, yeah.”

“I’ll go back tomorrow as well,” Hotch spoke up, deciding that he should probably make that clear right away.

“Of course you will, honey,” Jo agreed in the tone that meant that was exactly what he _wouldn’t_ be doing.

“Really, I…”

“Will stay here until I say differently,” Rossi interrupted him. Hotch gave him a tight-lipped glare, but his silent protest was disturbed by Leroy giving the back of his head a light slap at the same time as he placed a plate of cookies on the table.

“Is it so awful here?” he asked, obviously trying to sound hurt.

“Of course not,” Hotch replied, “But I have a job to do. A team to lead.”

“They can survive without you for a few days,” Rossi said, “And it’s not open for discussion. You’re staying.”

“Dave…”

“Aaron. You’re not really in an optimal position to be arguing with me, you know.”

“You’re being unreasonable,” Hotch protested, “I can’t take time off work just like that!”

“You have vacation days saved up. And again, it’s not a discussion.”

The Leroys were politely ignoring the argument, sitting next to each other on the kitchen sofa and pretending to study what was outside the window. Hotch would have considered appealing to them for help – Leroy, at least, sometimes backed him up when Rossi was being unreasonable – but this time they were obviously on Rossi’s side.

“Look, Dave, I know you’re concerned about me, but I _am_ …”

“If you’re gonna say anything that includes the word ‘boss’ I really suggest you reconsider,” Rossi broke him off warningly. Hotch snapped his mouth shut, glaring a little when Leroy chuckled at him.

“It might be that no-one has told you this, _petit_ ,” the Frenchman said as he got up to serve them coffee, “but parent easily outranks boss.”

Deciding that there wasn’t really any good way to argue with that, Hotch just scoffed and snatched a cookie off the platter.

 

* * *

 

“You’re mad.” Hotch didn’t look at Rossi as he entered his room a step ahead of Rossi, instead immediately heading for the window to study the trees on the edge of the Leroys’ yard.

“I’m not happy,” Rossi replied calmly, “This is something we’ve talked about before.”

Hotch sighed deeply and nodded, closing his eyes as he leant his head against the window. “I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just…” He sighed again.

Rossi joined him by the window, his presence tangible even before he placed a warm hand on Hotch’s back. “You needed to get away. You said. And I understand that. But why didn’t you let me know? All I would’ve needed was a phone call.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Did you think I’d tell you not to go?”

“Of course not,” Hotch mumbled, distractedly tapping at the cold glass.

“Then what?” Rossi demanded, his hand pressing down more heavily and forcing Hotch to focus.

“Dave…”

“Not gonna work, Aaron” Rossi replied, apparently unsympathetic to Hotch’s plea, “I want an explanation. It’s up to you whether I get it now or if we have to have a longer talk first.”

In a way, it was somewhat impressive how very meaningful Rossi could make the small word ‘talk’ sound without really putting much that much emphasis on it. Hotch hoped it was a skill he himself had mastered as well, since it made _very_ effective threats.

“I honestly don’t know,” Hotch said, turning away from the window to look at Rossi in an attempt to convey his sincerity, “I knew you wouldn’t mind me going and I knew you’d want to know. I just…” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Rossi studied him with a small frown, head tilted in consideration. “I believe you. But you need to figure it out.”

“Dave, I…” Hotch began to protest the unfairness of the instruction – he honestly _didn’t_ _know_ – but Rossi broke him off with a raised hand.

“It’s not some kind of punishment. I need to know. I’ll help you figure it out.”

Hotch sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, turning back to stare out the window. “You know, you don’t have to analyze everything I do down to the last detail. Sometimes, people just… do things.”

Obviously unimpressed, Rossi scoffed. “You know as well I do that’s not true. People have reasons for everything, even if they’re not aware of them.”

It was probably stupid – or just wishful thinking – to have expected any other kind of response to his words, Hotch supposed. Rossi was a born profiler, after all; finding reasons for behavior was what he _did_.

“And what are you going to do if I don’t figure out the reason?” Hotch challenged, his tone perhaps a bit more confrontational than strictly necessary.

Rossi certainly seemed to think so, if the sudden swat to his backside was anything to go by.

“I’ll give you some extra incentive.”

Hotch gave him a disbelieving look. “You’ll spank me for not knowing something?”

“I’ll spank you for not making an effort to figure it out. You’re a smart kid, Aaron. You can figure out your own motivations.”

The reply Hotch _wanted_ to give to that involved some words he wouldn’t use around children, but since Rossi seemed to be in his strict parent mood for some reason he settled for scoffing and turning back to the window.

“Don’t sulk,” Rossi reprimanded, “Do you wanna think things through on your own or do you wanna talk about it?”

“Do we have to this now, Dave?” Hotch asked, “I… I get that you want to talk about it. But does it have to be _now_?”

“You got something better to do?” Rossi shot back, “You’re just stalling.”

“So you’ll make me do it now.”

Rossi frowned, obviously a bit bemused. A feeling which Hotch actually shared. “Well, is there a reason not to?”

Hotch shrugged. “I don’t want to.”

“Aaron…” Rossi’s voice was half warning and half question; as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to scold Hotch or ask why he was acting like a child. Which was pretty much the same way Hotch felt.

“I… I’m sorry, Dave,” Hotch said, pushing a hand through his hair, “I…” He stopped. “We’ll talk. Of course we’ll talk.”

His frown deepening in concern, Rossi tilted his head as he studied Hotch thoughtfully. “All right,” he said finally, “Good. How about you start by telling me why you took off without a word.”

“You know why.”

“Well, I want some more detail.”

“Like you’re so fond of telling me, you can't always get what you want.”

The swat Hotch got in reply to that actually really stung and he turned to level his best unit chief glare on Rossi. But obviously, the man was completely unaffected; he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

“Attitude, Aaron,” he chided in the kind of off-hand tone he used when he thought Hotch was just being a child. His face softened and he smoothed back the hair from Hotch’s forehead with a small smile. “I’m asking because I want to help. If you really don’t want to tell me, I guess we’ll just… well, you don’t have to. But I want you to.”

“Because you want to fix me,” Hotch accused, addressing the window rather than Rossi.

He heard the older man sigh. “We’ve been through this. _Yes_ , I want to ‘fix you’. Because I care about you and want you to be happy. Not because you’re broken. You’re not. But you’re unhappy right now, and I want to help you. All right?”

“Yeah…” Hotch said slowly. He sighed. “I know that, Dave. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m being like this.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He gave Hotch’s ear an affectionate tug. “I can deal with crankiness.”

Hotch scoffed, both a smile and a blush forcing their way onto his face simultaneously. “I don’t doubt it,” he mumbled. He hesitated for a moment, staring out the window. Then he shrugged. “I’m tired.”

Rossi’s hand returned to his lower back, rubbing in small circles, as the man stepped closer to Hotch’s side. “Tired?”

“Yeah. It… it was just too much.”

“You could have come to me,” Rossi said, continuing to rub Hotch’s back. There was a hint of hurt in his voice, though Rossi had probably tried not to let it show, and Hotch shifted uncomfortably as he realized what running off to the Leroys rather than speak to Rossi would seem like to him.

“I know. I really do, Dave,” Hotch assured Rossi, turning around to give his mentor an earnest look. “But I… I needed to get away completely, I think. From everything.”

Rossi nodded. “Sure. I get that. But I meant before things… got this bad.”

“It’s nothing you could help with.”

“I want to know anyway. You know that.”

“I don’t see why,” Hotch said, “So you can put it in your book about messed-up FBI agents?”

Apparently, Rossi wasn’t impressed by his snappish tone. “When I said I could handle crankiness, Aaron, I didn’t mean by just ignoring it.”

Hotch closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He knew he was being… difficult, really; snapping at Rossi without any particular reason. It was uncomfortable to talk about his feelings, but Hotch could usually handle it without regressing into a moody teenager. He raised a hand to rub at his forehead, also effectively hiding from Rossi’s disapproving eyes.

Then he swallowed. “Dave… you’re going to… to spank me, aren’t you?”

Looking a bit surprised by Hotch’s sudden change of subject, Rossi nodded. “Yes.”

Hotch hesitated, not sure if he was being a complete idiot for asking what he was about to and even less sure if he really wanted to ask it.

“Can you… can you spank me now? First. And then I’ll… tell you.” He hesitated, picking at his nails for a moment before he turned to look at Rossi. “It’s not because… because I think you’ll go easier on me if you do it before you know or anything like that.”

Rossi snorted. “Believe me, if I thought that was the reason I’d spank you for that as well. But yeah. I guess we could do that.” He studied Hotch for a moment, head tilted. “We could. But I’ll spank you after we talk as well. Sounds good?

“Uh…” Hotch muttered, trying to find a good way of phrasing his query. Would this mean two spankings instead of one? Because then it definitely _didn’t_ sound good.

From the smile on Rossi’s face, he seemed to get what Hotch wanted to know without him having to say it. “It won’t mean it’ll be a worse punishment. It’ll just be the one spanking, but with a pause.” He frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “You know what, that’s how we’ll do it. Deliberation time is over. Not your choice anymore.”

“What!?” Hotch exclaimed, instinctively taking a step away from Rossi. The man intercepted his flight by snagging his arm in a firm grip. “Da-ave!”

As expected, Rossi completely ignored Hotch’s protest – that definitely wasn’t a whine – and continued dragging him toward the bed. He sat down, letting go of Hotch.

“Pants down,” he ordered, giving Hotch’s belt a meaningful tug. Hotch gave him a wide-eyed look, trying to look innocent.

“Do I have to?”

Rossi raised his eyebrows. “Yes. This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. But I’ll let you keep your boxers on.”

“Gee, thanks,” Hotch muttered under his breath. But he did unbuckle his belt and unzipped his fly, before letting the jeans slide down to the middle of his thighs. Then he let Rossi help position him across his knee, shifting slightly. Rossi wrapped an arm around Hotch’s waist and pulled him closer.

“Okay?” he asked. Hotch nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Rossi said and then landed the first swat.

He kept spanking at a brisk pace, covering Hotch’s entire backside before he returned to the first spot. The thin fabric of Hotch’s boxers didn’t offer much protection against the swats raining down only split seconds apart and they weren’t that hard, each one individually, but together they quickly built up to a difficult-to-ignore sting.

“Dave?” Hotch ventured after a while, not sure how to handle the fact that Rossi wasn’t saying anything, “I’m – ah! – I’m sorry for leaving without telling you.”

“You should be,” Rossi replied, “I was _worried_ , Aaron. You know better than being unreachable.”

The swats fell heavier after that and before long Hotch had to concentrate to stay still, his instincts telling him to twist away from Rossi’s hand or kick his feet. But he was a grown man and could handle a spanking without childish gestures like that.

After another round of covering Hotch’s entire backside with swats, Rossi stopped. He let his hand rest on Hotch’s lower back, giving a small comforting pat.

“Ready to talk now?”

“Yeah,” Hotch said and let Rossi help him to his feet before he sat down next to him, wiping away the few tears that had escaped down his face.

“So. Tired. What’s wrong?”

Hotch sighed, looking down at his hands as he picked at his nails. “Well… just normal stuff, really. The job. Kate dying. Not seeing Jack enough. The thing with Cyrus. Haley…”

“Haley?” Rossi echoed, immediately catching on to how Hotch’s tone changed as he said her name, “What about her?”

“She…” Hotch closed his eyes. He didn’t want to share this with Rossi. He didn’t even want to admit it to himself, really. “She’s seeing someone new.”

“Oh.”

“I know I should be happy for her,” Hotch rushed on, “and I… I _am._ Really. I know I shouldn’t be jealous. But… it’s just… I still love her, Dave.”

His voice sounded small and needy, almost broken, as he made the confession, his throat constricting in shame. Because he knew he shouldn’t feel this way; it was petty of him. He’d lost Haley, hadn't been a good enough husband for her, and he had no right to feel hurt by her moving on to someone new.

“Of course you do,” Rossi said softly, “It’s to be expected that you feel hurt. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Hotch sighed. “I… I can’t begrudge her happiness.”

“And you’re not. You can’t control your feelings, Aaron. And sometimes, you _are_ gonna feel things you’d rather not feel. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Yes, but…” Hotch raised a hand to his face, exhaling forcefully. “I shouldn’t be jealous. The divorce was my fault.”

Rossi gave him a small shove. “No, it wasn’t. It was no-one’s _fault_. It just… didn’t work out.”

“Because I worked too much.”

“Because _she thought_ you worked too much.”

“She thought… she thought I wasn’t there enough for Jack,” Hotch said quietly, still not looking at Rossi. Before his mentor had time to answer him, he rushed on. “And… and maybe she’s right, Dave. And… and this new guy _will_ be around and Jack gets attached to him and… and I become just the distant father he never sees and it’s his step-dad he brings to PTA meetings and…”

He broke himself off, stopping the flow of words tumbling out of him and revealing far more of his fears than he had planned on. Tears were stinging in his eyes and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Rossi put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, running his hand up and down Hotch’s arm.

“Well, you’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Rossi said and the easy confidence in his voice was somehow soothing. “The important thing is that he knows that you love him and that when he needs you, you’ll be there.

He kept rubbing Hotch’s arm in silence, humming softly under his breath, before he spoke again. “Look, when I was a kid, my dad worked _a lot_. I mean, there were six of us kids and he couldn’t exactly get the most well-paid jobs, and my mom had to take care of my younger brother and sisters, so she couldn’t work. So he worked overtime. You know, not getting home until we were already in bed, working weekends… So he wasn’t always there, but I never doubted that he loved us.”

Hotch was quiet for a moment. “But he worked to provide for your family.”

“As opposed to you, who’s working to save lives.” Rossi’s tone was skeptical, almost a bit amused, and Hotch shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to answer that. “Besides, she’s _dating_ this guy, Hotch. That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s gonna ask him to move in with her.”

“I know,” Hotch admitted. He let out a breath. “I guess… it made it even more real. That we’re… over, you know?”

“Yeah. I get it,” Rossi said. “Is this why you didn’t come to me? Because you were ashamed of being jealous?”

“I…” Hotch grimaced, hiding behind the hand raised to his forehead, “I guess. Part of it, at least. I mean… I knew you’d tell me it’s fine, but…”

“You don’t believe it yourself,” Rossi finished for him, “And why else?”

“I guess I… I just don’t like asking for help,” Hotch replied after a moment’s thought. That wouldn’t be anything new to Rossi, but it was the truth and it had definitely been a part of Hotch not coming to him.

“I know you don’t. But you know I want you to ask anyway, when you need help. That’s another thing we’ve talked about before, Aaron.”

Rossi’s voice had entered into definite sternness as he made the last pronouncement, apparently no longer in his treat-Hotch-like-a-fragile-child-mood and instead in his treat-Hotch-like-a- _misbehaving_ -child-mood. Hotch wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

“I know,” he said.

“Let’s get it over with, then,” Rossi said, tapping at Hotch’s back for him to get up. With a deep sigh, Hotch did. He let his pants slide down again and Rossi to pull him down over his lap, adjusting him until he was firmly settled.

Then the older man started spanking, immediately reminding Hotch that part of the spanking had already happened. Rossi’s palm mercilessly rained down stinging swats covering the entirety of Hotch’s backside and upper thighs, but at a puzzlingly slow pace.

“I expected you to come to me if you need help, Aaron,” Rossi began lecturing calmly, surprising Hotch by not asking him to lay out the reasons for his punishment himself, “No matter what about. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

He went silent after that, continuing to spank, letting a couple of seconds pass between every hit of palm. Hotch soon found himself shifting over the older man’s knee, the anticipation of not knowing when or where the next swat would land making it impossible to stay still.

“And you don’t take off without anyone knowing,” Rossi continued, “I need to know where you are and how to get a hold of you.”

“Yes sir,” Hotch agreed quickly, not really sure if Rossi wanted an answer but deciding he might as well give him one anyway. It never hurt letting his mentor know that he understood what he was being told, “I’m sorry.”

Rossi just grunted in reply, giving no other indication that he had heard Hotch and continued to spank. Hotch squirmed more and more under the onslaught, drawing in sharp breaths whenever Rossi hit an especially sensitive spot. Which was soon pretty much with every swat. His wriggling wasn’t _really_ an attempt at evading Rossi’s hand, not consciously. It was instinct: pulling away from something that hurt. Normally he would have forced himself to be still, but right now… he just couldn’t be bothered.

And Rossi didn’t seem to mind; when Hotch’s squirming increased more and more he just tightened his hold around Hotch’s waist, saying nothing.

“Dave…” Hotch hazarded when his eyes were beginning to tear up, “I- I’m sorry.”

Again Hotch got no other reply than a small hum of agreement. For a while the only sounds in the room were Rossi’s hand smacking down with regular intervals and Hotch’s half-grunts, half-sobs.

Without warning, Rossi suddenly raised one leg a little. Since Hotch knew perfectly well that the only possible reason for that was to give him better access to the sensitive spots where the buttocks met the thighs, he felt the need to protest.

“Dave!”

It sounded like a whine even to himself and as expected Rossi ignored him, putting some extra force in the final half dozen swats he landed before he lowered his leg again.

“We’re done now,” he said in a low soothing voice, giving the lower part of Hotch’s thigh a light pat, “Let’s get you up.”

After a few shuddering breaths, Hotch nodded and, with Rossi’s help, got to his feet. The older man helped him pull his pants up and then immediately wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, wiping away the worst of the tears from Hotch’s face before he pulled his head down to rest against his shoulder. Hotch surprised himself by instinctively returning the embrace fiercely.

Rossi seemed as startled by his uncharacteristic actions as Hotch was, but he quickly recovered and began stroking Hotch’s hair in a comfortingly familiar fashion.

“You okay?” he asked softly after a while, concern obvious in his voice. It immediately made Hotch feel a bit guilty; worrying Rossi was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Yes,” he said, swallowing, “I… it’s…”

He broke off in a hitched breath, unable to finish reassuring Rossi that he was all right, _really,_ and he just wanted to be allowed to hide in Rossi’s arms for a bit longer. But in one instance of Hotch actually liking how well Rossi could read him, the man seemed to understand anyway.

“Shh… It’s okay, son. You don’t have to explain yourself. Everything’s fine. I promise. You’ll be fine.”

Maybe it was the use of ‘son’ or maybe it was the soothing, gentle tone of Rossi’s voice, but whatever the reason Hotch found himself sort of believing him. He allowed himself to relax in Rossi’s embrace, keeping his arms wrapped around the man but loosening his hold from frantic clutching to just a light hug.

Rossi kept running his hand over Hotch’s hair, humming what Hotch was fairly sure he recognized as some Sinatra song under his breath. And Hotch had to admit that he found it soothing. He preferred the Beatles and the other early rock bands to the singers Rossi favored, but he’d come to associate that music with Rossi and even if it made him feel slightly ridiculously, that meant that the songs felt… safe.

He drew a deep breath, pleased to note that even though it wasn’t completely even it was no longer the shuddering hitch it had been before. “I’m sorry.”

“Aaron?” Rossi said mildly, “I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about apologizing for needing comfort before.”

“Uh… yeah,” Hotch admitted sheepishly, shifting on his feet a little. They had talked about it, and the last time had involved threats.

“Glad you remember. Now hush and let me comfort you.”

“I’m fine,” Hotch protested, but he didn’t try to pull away. “I am. I don’t know why I reacted like this.”

“I do,” Rossi replied, “It’s because you’re exhausted. I should have made you take a vacation a long time ago.”

“’S not your responsibility,” Hotch mumbled, a bit absently noting that his eyelids were beginning to droop. Why did spankings always make him sleepy?

“ _You’re_ my responsibility,” Rossi shot back, “and you always will be. Come downstairs and get some sleep before dinner, now.”

“I can sleep up here.”

“Sure you can, but I want you to come downstairs with me.”

Hotch hesitated for a moment before he nodded and slipped out of Rossi’s embrace, swiping a hand over his eyes. “All right.”

Rossi gave him an approving smile. “Good. And see: you’re already less cranky.”

The glare Hotch have Rossi was probably made less effective by the blush on his face, but he thought he did a pretty good job nevertheless. He really wished Rossi would give up using that word.

“Dave?” he mumbled when they were halfway down the stairs, “Just so you know, I don’t like getting a spanking in two parts.”

“Well, you asked for it,” Rossi said, steering him toward the living room with a hand on his arm. “Literally.”

“Did not. I asked you to spank me before we talked.” Hotch sat down on the couch, bending down to take off his shoes. “Never gonna do that again. Dunno why I did it in the first place.”

Rossi chuckled. “I do. Lie down, Aaron. I’ll do that for you.”

Apparently he had noticed how difficult Hotch’s rapidly shutting down brain found it to properly coordinate his fingers to untie the laces and decided it’d be easier for both of them if he did it himself. He gave Hotch’s shoulder a light push and Hotch obediently straightened before he swung his legs up on the couch and curled up on his side. As promised, Rossi untied Hotch’s shoes and slipped them off his feet.

“Why?”

“What’s that?”

“Why’d I ask you to spank me?” Hotch clarified, adjusting the pillow under his head.

“Well…” Rossi said thoughtfully, “You knew you were being… contrary. And you knew that wouldn’t end well for you.”

Hotch decided that he much preferred ‘contrary’ to ‘cranky’ but he didn’t have the energy to tell Rossi that, so instead he made a small humming sound and closed his eyes.

“Also, I’m pretty sure you _wanted_ to tell me what was bothering you and, well… You never could do things the easy way.” Rossi gave his thigh a light pat. “I’ll wake you for dinner.”

 

* * *

 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Hotch said quietly as he slipped out of Leroy’s tight embrace. The older man gave his cheek a sharp tap, one corner of his mouth drawn up in a wry smile.

“We’ve talked about saying thank you for being loved, no?”

“Yeah,” Hotch admitted, feeling his own mouth curving in a small smile, “But I _am_ grateful.”

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” Leroy conceded.

“As long as you remember that you’re not a guest here,” Jo interjected, “This is your home whenever you want.”

Hotch ducked his head, still smiling. “I’ll try.”

“Well, that’s all we’re asking,” Jo said, giving his cheek a soft pat, “You need to come visit properly soon, with Jack. And your team.”

“I will,” Hotch replied, “But… I don’t know when we’ll be able to.”

“I don’t care if you’re able to,” Leroy said, fixing Hotch with a stern look as he caught Hotch’s face with a hand on his cheek, “If you _need_ to, you’ll come. Or I’ll come down and drag you up here myself. By your ear, if I have to.”

Feeling his face heating, Hotch pulled away from Leroy’s hand. “Got it. And that won’t be necessary.”

“For your sake, I hope not.” Leroy gave him a small smile and then leant forward to kiss his cheek. “Call if you need anything. And listen to Dave. Unless he’s being stupid.”

“You need to eat more,” Jo added to the list of admonitions, “You’re too thin. Doesn’t Dave cook enough food for you?”

“I’m a grown man,” Hotch pointed out, “I can cook for myself.”

He was ignored completely.

“You need more sleep, as well. Your job’s stressful enough when you’re not sleep-deprived.”

“And lay off some of your work to Dave,” Leroy continued, “It’s what he’s paid for.”

Hotch valiantly fought the urge to roll his eyes at the couples’ particular way of saying goodbye, but in the end he didn’t succeed.

“From that eye roll I’m guessing you want to get going,” Leroy said, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“I don’t want to miss my plane,” Hotch replied diplomatically. Then he smiled. “And I do actually know how to take care of myself without step-by-step instructions.”

“So you say.” Jo didn’t sound entirely convinced, but neither did she give any more orders about what to do and not do once Hotch got away from under her and her husband’s direct care. “Well, head on to your plane now, honey.”

“Yeah. Good bye.” Hotch exchanged final hugs with the couple and endured two more kisses to his cheeks, but fortunately didn’t receive any further admonitions before he headed into the airport, mentally preparing himself to leave the comfort of the Leroys’ remote house and take up the responsibilities of Agent Hotchner again. He actually felt ready for it.

 

* * *

 

“Hotch!” Reid greeted happily as soon as he saw Hotch enter the bullpen, “Where have you been?”

“On vacation,” Hotch replied, hiding a smile at Reid’s unbridled curiosity that ignored the convention that if people wanted you to know where they’d been, they’d tell you.

“Yeah, Rossi said.” Reid’s brow furrowed. “Kind of.”

Hotch scoffed, easily interpreting the ‘kind of’ as meaning that the older man had mostly evaded any inquiries and hinted vaguely at the answers. Something he was very good at.

“Where were you?” Reid continued.

“Maine. Visiting friends.”

“Oh,” Reid said before his face lit up with excitement, “Did you know that there is a cryptozoology museum in Maine? The world’s largest. It’s supposed to be really cool.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“They have models of like _every_ made-up creature there is. Life-size! They have a home page.”

Reid gave Hotch a pleading look as he hopefully added the last words, an obvious request to come and share his excitement at models of… Bigfoot? The Loch Ness monster? Hotch shook his head.

“Not right now, Reid. Working hours, remember?” The kid looked so crestfallen that Hotch immediately continued. “I’ll come and take a look as soon as I’ve gotten the most urgent paperwork out of the way, all right?”

“Thanks, Hotch,” Reid replied, pushing some hair out of his face and giving Hotch a shy smile. He’d obviously realized that his excitement wasn’t entirely appropriate coming from an adult. But his obvious sincerity had Hotch smile back before he headed up the stairs to his office.

But before he went in, he walked past it and knocked lightly on the door to Rossi’s office, stepping inside at the man’s “come in”.

“Oh, hi Hotch,” Rossi greeted him smilingly, “You look better.”

“Thanks. I feel better.”

“Enough to come back?”

Hotch nodded. “Yeah. To be honest, it was getting a bit… stifling.”

Rossi snorted, an amused smile on his lips. “They get like that. But at least I can trust that you’ve been taken proper care of.”

“As if you haven’t demanded reports from Alex every hour.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad,” Rossi protested, “It was just every day.”

“As long as you don’t start making _me_ report on my day.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Rossi said, trying to look serious and thoughtful but failing utterly because of the smile tugging at his lips, “I won’t have to worry all the time.”

“Good bye,” Hotch said and headed out the door.

“Come on!” Rossi called after him, “How about every week?” Hotch ignored him and kept walking to his office. “I could make you a form? One-to-ten scale?”


End file.
